There was never a place I truly felt at home. My childhood was a patchwork of different households—co-raised by my wonderful grandparents and my parents. The contrast between them made me feel slightly displaced, like I didn't belong anywhere. By the age of 14, I was placed in care. At 16, after a brief and uneasy return to my parents' home, I chose the streets over a place where I felt unwanted. The streets, oddly enough, seemed safer.
Life took a sudden turn, catapulting me into a whirlwind adventure. Leaving for the city, I soon fell in love with a man who seemed like a prince charming, whisking me off to a life of luxury. With properties in the most affluent corners of the globe, the question of having a place to call home seemed settled. We even chose a dream home together, nestled in the lush countryside. For a while, I felt happy and content.
But cracks began to show. My prince charming wasn’t so charming after all. His passive comments reminded me that this was his domain, and I was merely a visitor. Despite my efforts to help grow our business and home, his constant refrain of “You’re getting too comfortable!” echoed in my mind. After seven years, I realised that I was still a stranger in someone else’s home.
The same feeling overcame me, I was unwanted, unwelcome, so I left. I had a career and a good income from the hard work I put into our business. Buying my own home, I thought I had finally solved my problem. No one could ever make me feel like I didn’t belong again. But I was wrong. Life kept throwing challenges my way, seemingly orchestrated to rip my sanctuary away from me.
I met and married the father of my children. It wasn’t a great love story, but he seemed humble. However, as the years passed, his covert narcissism chipped away at my self-esteem. I lost my sanctuary once more, tiptoeing around my own home, feeling ignored and in pain. The abuse eventually turned physical, and that was the final straw. I thought I could finally breathe again, heal, and start anew.
But the nightmare wasn’t over. While I was at work, he installed bugs and cameras, tapping my phone and tracking my movements. For years, he watched and listened from afar, always one step ahead. One day, he went too far, sending a recording of a personal phone conversation to my manager, his secret revealed. My home became a prison, a place of silence and fear.
It seemed like my curse was never belonging anywhere, never having a safe place. During this time, I began my healing journey. Learning about narcissism, I understood not only what it was but also my role in this toxic dynamic. Over the years, I’ve come to understand much about myself and the curse of narcissistic abuse that followed me, diminishing my worth and sense of safety.
In the last seven years, I’ve grown tremendously. I no longer fear speaking my mind, regardless of who is listening. Paradoxically, overcoming my greatest fear brought me the greatest sanctuary of all—a safe place for my inner child and me. This sanctuary isn’t found in any bricks or mortar. The greatest sanctuary is within yourself. When you find safety within, you become home, not only for yourself but for those who share your life.
It took time, but I learned, home is where the heart is, and without self-love, the heart will never know what real love is.
Thank you for joining me on this deeply personal journey. Discover more about my story and explore pieces that resonate with your own experiences in the "Misery Loves Company" collection.
